


A Worse Fire

by Autumn_Llleaves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Llleaves/pseuds/Autumn_Llleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa forgets the Mother's Hymn, and Sandor briefly loses control. That eventually leads to a different outcome of the battle – not only for these two, but for the whole of King's Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Sing for your little life."

As the cold metal pressed onto her neck, Sansa felt all the songs she had ever learned fleeing from her head. The Hound's dark gaze was upon her, and it was impossible to think properly, let alone remember anything and sing. Even the hymns they had sung recently were forgotten.

"Don't kill me," was all that came out in gasps from her mouth that was suddenly all dry like paper. "I'll sing for you. I promise. When the battle ends. Please spare me, ser…" she bit her lip, but it was too late.

"I'm no ser. Why can't you learn it, little bird?" he fumed, but she thought there was a desperate undertone too.

The blade slid down. Sansa felt her skin getting as cold as the steel of it. _Better him than Ilyn Payne. I'd rather be stabbed in the heart than beheaded_ , a distant thought, as if she was only witnessing the scene, echoed in her brain.

"Anyway, I said I'll take a song whether you want it or not," the Hound rasped. Sansa tensed, unsure of how to react. _He's drunk. He just babbles on without really knowing what he's saying._

Only when he sheathed the dagger and buried his face in her hair with a groan, gripping her shoulders, did she realize what he meant. What he had meant all along.

"No!" she yelped.

"What difference is it to you, little bird?" he breathed, his harsh lips touching her ear. "It will be me or your beloved king or one of Stannis's men."

Sansa had never been more frightened. Not even during the riots. When he had saved her. Aye, he saved her. But who would save her from him?

No one, she concluded. The only man capable of besting the Hound was his even more terrifying brother.

"Don't, no, don't," she pleaded as the Hound's mouth went from her ear to her neck. One of his hands lifted up her skirt.

"I implore, my lord, don't do it…"

"Oh, little bird," he moaned, rubbing against her and sneaking his fingers between her thighs. Sansa shook her head violently, tears streaming down her cheeks. She secretly hoped she would faint from the reek of wine and blood, and wake up when it would be over.

"Little bird," he reached for her chin, but she turned away. "Look at me."

"Why should I?" Sansa cried. There was nothing for her to lose anymore. "You can take your fill without me looking on."

She closed her eyes with resignation and waited for something final. The dagger in her throat, or the Hound himself inside her.

Nothing happened. Something watery fell on her cheek. Then again and again. Opening one of her eyes slightly, Sansa saw the Hound's scarred face above her. The green glow didn't provide much of a view, but she distinctly saw moisture glimmering in the corners of his eyes.

A calloused hand gently wiped the tears off her own face.

"Sansa…" the Hound whispered hoarsely, for the first time using her own name. The girl stilled, hardly daring to breathe. His arms went around her, and for a moment she was crushed so tightly she thought she'll have bruises. Just as abruptly, he withdrew, and, taking one last look at her, stormed outside.

Sansa fell on the bed, confused, scared and shaking all over. 

***

The sight of her tearful face haunted him. Even when he was riding towards the river, where the green fire raged on and on, he couldn't bring himself to care about that fire. Only about her flaming hair.

She had been so cold. As if she was made of their Northern snow. Cold and shivering. That, and the quiet defeat in her face when she closed her eyes, stopped him at the last moment.

Why did he bloody care? Every pretty knight would have taken her in his place.

The Hound felt self-hatred scorching him inside. _You buggering idiot. You thought you'd fool yourself that you were going to her for noble purposes?_ He wanted to think he'd have taken her out of this burning city afterwards, but knew that afterwards she wouldn't have trusted him an inch more than she trusted Cersei.

Her voice, pleading, broken, came back to his ears. _Don't, no, don't…_

Sandor roared with fury, trying to silence that voice, but to no avail. He had stopped, but he had done enough. Whatever illusions the little bird had harbored about him being a gallant knight in disguise, they would be broken beyond repair.

Good for her. A trusting girl can't survive.

But it stung and burned, harder than any cut, worse than any fire. Now this green flame didn't matter. He deserved it. More than anyone in King's Landing, save perhaps for Joffrey.

The feeling of her skin against his lips haunted him too. It had to be burnt away. Had to be. With his lips, with the rest of him. A proper punishment for the one who betrayed the little bird.

He was by the river. The tide had turned, they were winning. But anyway his reappearance was met with a cheer from his men. They had some respect for him. Fools. Suddenly, he spotted the dwarf – almost falling down, and Ser Mandon reaching him with his hand… with a blade ready in another one.

Sandor laughed at that madly, joylessly, but suddenly his laugh broke. The only other who protected the little bird would be gone…

Just as Mandon raised his hand for a strike, the Hound was by their side. He plunged his dagger into Mandon, his free hand catching the falling dwarf in time.

Tyrion Lannister stared at him with shock. A rare expression for the pompous brat.

"Clegane?" he finally uttered. "Saving my life?"

"I didn't do _this_ for you either," he snarled and walked away. "The next time, if you want to fight, go against Moon Boy."

"I appreciate your kindly given advice," the dwarf called after him, back to his normal self. "After the battle, you'll be rewarded."

"Bugger the reward."

In the mayhem, he went back towards the castle. The fire was dying down, slowly but steadily. A pity. Well, there were other ways. 

_I implore, my lord, don't do it…_ The blue innocent eyes, with fresh unshed tears pooling inside…

A monster, that's what he was. A rabid beast who should be put down, for what he did. At any cost. 

Joffrey never saw it coming. Nor did his bitchy mother. _Today, it seems, everyone who hurt the little bird will pay in full,_ Sandor thought as he cut through Ser Meryn. 

After finishing the guards, he felt almost peaceful. It was over. Now what he had to do was to wait with his bloodied sword in hand for the victors to arrive. 

_The Lannisters should be grateful in the end. There's another Kingslayer to overshadow their precious Ser Jaime._

He heard Tyrion in the distance talking to that sellsword of his. Good. They were coming. _If the dwarf sets Sansa free, I will never speak against him in my life. Not that I have much life left._

Suddenly, quiet sounds came from a different direction. 

"See this bloodbath? Someone's taken care of our beloved royals. If we're not careful, the Stark girl's lost to us! They might suspect her."

"So shall I fetch her now, my lord?"

"Of course, good Florian. The quicker you bring her, the larger the additional tip."

He recognized these two voices only too well. _Blast it, why did I stop the king from killing Dontos when there was a chance?_ He knew why, of course. The little bird's tender heart couldn't stand killings, and his own one (far from tender) couldn't stand her beatings. 

Sandor emerged into the corridor, sword in hand. 

"Treason!" he yelled, gripping Littlefinger with one hand and Dontos with another. "High treason!"

He could have slashed through both himself, but, knowing Baelish… he would certainly have supporters left. And how could they be found if not with Baelish's own assistance?

Realizing he had no visible proof against them, Sandor shoved the handle of his sword into Dontos's hand. The old drunkard stared at it at a loss. 

Thankfully, the dwarf, along with the sellsword and a dozen others, came running.

"Why, Hound," was his very first commentary. "I dare suggest you acted like a knight today."

_Wait and see. As soon as Baelish is taken care of, I'll tell you the truth. Knight indeed!_

***

Sansa was caught in a whirlwind of news. The battle had been won, after all. But a traitor showed up in the Keep – none other than Petyr Baelish, whom she had believed to be her mother's friend. And her… not ally, no, but not an enemy either. Again, she was wrong. 

Worse, it was revealed that Dontos Hollard, her poor Florian, had been in fact working for him. Dontos murdered Joffrey and Cersei at Petyr's request, and they were planning to kidnap her… when the Hound caught them. 

The girl felt herself blush with shame at the thought of the Hound. He… he had almost ruined her! Truly, she had been careless, being so open with him. He might have taken her behavior as an invitation. 

But then he stopped. He returned to the battlefield and saved the life of Lord Tyrion. 

What was to make of it?

She sighed, exasperated. It was so easy to label people kind or evil. Why did life have to be so much more complicated?

Straightening her hair, she walked to the throne room, to declare for Tommen. With Tywin, Tyrion and Kevan serving as regents, of course.

But Tommen was a sweet boy, and Sansa hoped he wouldn't be spoiled by kingship. 

The ceremony was short, as there were rather few people present, mostly of the small council. The Kingsguard was represented only by the Hound, gloomy and distant, draped in a new pure white cloak. 

Sansa's cheeks burnt again as she spotted him. Confused and ashamed yet more, she barely heard what Tyrion was speaking. He said of peace terms with her brother, and her being sent home… She wondered if it was some crazy dream. 

"Now," Lord Tywin took the initiative. "Whoever had worked with Baelish's schemes is a traitor. If you know of any such men, report at once."

The Hound stepped forward and, to Sansa's horror, knelt:

"I was such a man. I helped him."


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone stared at the Hound. Sansa's breath caught in her throat. It was terrible enough to think about what he… did to her during the battle, but the mere notion that he was doing so at _Baelish's instructions_ …

"All right, then why did you betray him?" Tywin asked, his face an expressionless mask. 

"I heard him telling Dontos he was planning to get rid of me," the man shrugged. "Also, it was me who slayed your lot… at his orders. Do you honestly believe Dontos could best someone like Meryn?"

"Very well," Tywin continued, as if oblivious to the shocked whispers filling the courtroom. "That is rather logical. But why saving my son's life?"

"I was ordered to spare him. I think Baelish wanted to take him hostage."

Tywin looked at Tyrion. Even Sansa could notice that for once the two were in agreement. 

"Clegane, you have a certain elegance of mind," Tyrion said jovially. "Thank you for the little performance. But alas, your story falls apart. First: why giving yourself away now?"

"You might call it remorse, dwarf."

The whispers turned into muffled snickers. The Hound looked behind with an annoyed air. 

For a moment, his look met Sansa's, and with a start the girl understood. She saw remorse in his eyes, and only she in the whole room knew the true reason of it. 

"Second, I know for sure that you didn't work with Baelish," Tyrion continued. "As does everyone else, I'm certain. I could imagine you cutting down my nephew and sister by yourself, but you are not one to participate in the plans of Baelish and his likes. So, again, thank you for the little show, and go drown your sudden suicidal thoughts in Dornish red."

The people broke into laughter. The Hound's eyes shot daggers at them. 

Sansa didn't know whether she should feel relieved or frightened.

***

As everybody was leaving, the dwarf called after him:

"Clegane! We need to talk of your Kingsguard duties."

He stood still. Disgust filled his heart – at the foolish dwarf who acquitted him, but mostly at himself. 

Sandor saw the little bird in the courtroom, and one look was enough. She was now plainly horrified by his sight. A wonder no one noticed it, too busy with bowing to the new boy king. 

"Why did you kill Cersei and Joffrey?" the dwarf asked casually, leaning against the throne. 

"So you knew that I did?"

"As you've said yourself, a bloodied sword, _Ser_ Dontos and a heap of Kingsguard corpses don't exactly fit together. I knew it at once."

"Why, then…"

"Honestly, Clegane, you have wits. You could have seen how _much_ I care for my sweet sister and her eldest. And when would spring a new chance to get rid of Littlefinger?" 

"You could have believed that I worked with him."

The dwarf looked at him, and Sandor had a weird feeling of being looked _down_ upon. 

"What happened?" Tyrion demanded. "Don't tell me you were remorseful for almost deserting. Have you lost anything precious in the black cells, so anxious you are to get there?"

Sandor lowered his head and made up his mind. 

"A Lannister always pays his debts," he said. "For me saving your life, promise me not to speak of what I'll tell you. To anyone."

"I promise," the dwarf nodded, not a trace of mockery in his voice. "So what was it?"

"I assaulted Lady Sansa," Sandor said. He hardly found the strength to speak it, and it came out as a rasping whisper. "I came to her room after deserting and tried to take advantage of her."

"But you didn't in the end?" Tyrion raised a brow. 

He shook his head:

"Her virtue is still there."

"As was all her clothing when her maids returned," added the dwarf. "It seems you've stopped rather early. And for that alone you condemn yourself?"

How could he understand? For sure, the dwarf protected the girl, but only because she was valuable as a pawn. And a hostage on whom his brother's life depended. Sandor had to muster all willpower not to cut off that arrogant big head of Lord Tyrion. 

"You are an idiot," the dwarf grinned. "If we chop your head off, she will lose someone who protects her."

"Protects her. Don't make me laugh, dwarf."

Tyrion smirked:

"Aye, protects her. If you stay alive and try to prove it, you can be sure she'll forgive you in time."

The notion sent his heart beating wildly, until suspicion came. 

"Why are you so calm?" Sandor rasped. "If I hadn't stopped last night, you'd have lost a priceless hostage. I wonder how would her mother have repaid us."

"I'm going to send Sansa home as soon as we settle the peace terms. But the Starks may not want to hold to my terms for long. They'd have their North and then go for the whole realm. For example, Sansa's flowered and my niece yet hasn't. They might make a Dornish marriage for her, to bring the Martells to support them. Or they can marry her to her brat of a cousin."

"So what?" Sandor asked, feeling his blood boil at the suggestions. 

"So that. If someone of my bannermen is interested in Lady Stark, all the better."

"Shut up, dwarf. If I'm right in thinking what you're hinting on, it's total bullshit. You can't entrust the little bird's safety to a killer and rapist like me."

"You know what, Clegane? Most of bad things happen to you when you think too lowly of yourself. You are one of the most decent men available, and all you need is to keep yourself in check."

***

Tyrion visited her later in the afternoon. 

"I sent another offering of peace to Lord Robb," he said. "If we manage to negotiate, you'll soon go home."

"In truth?" Sansa whispered. After learning the truth about Ser Dontos, she found it hard to believe. 

"In truth. Well, to your mother and brother at least. There's that trouble around Winterfell."

"But I'll go to Mother…" Sansa smiled. For the first time in many months, she felt truly and utterly happy. 

As soon as Tyrion left, she ran to her dear weirwood to speak her thankfulness. At last. Free. Free of Joffrey. Free of the beatings. Free of the capital. 

She was so absorbed that she hardly noticed her surroundings and bumped into someone in the corridor. 

"Oh!" she wanted to curtsy and excuse herself, but her heart skipped a beat. 

It was the Hound. 

_Quick, tell him you're sorry and run._

"S-ser… oh, no… I meant… do forgive me…" she murmured, trembling. 

"I? Forgive you?" he barked, but his anger wasn't directed at her. "It is I who should beg for it. Damn it, I would have crawled at your feet if I knew how."

"Were you truly working with Littlefinger?" she asked, afraid to meet his eye. 

"That bugger? Little bird, I would have never trusted him with a horse shoenail. But what would you want me to say? To tell the whole council of how I went drunk and forced myself on you in your bedchamber?"

Sansa felt her face getting red again.

"N-no, I sup-p-pose not…" she muttered. 

"There you are."

He grew quiet, and though she knew she was expected to walk away and not risk her chastity, having already had a narrow escape, she couldn't. His eyes were intent on her, and a plea in them so earnest it was a wonder that nothing else in his face betrayed it. 

"It… it wasn't _entirely_ your fault," she said uncertainly. "You were… er… not yourself."

"Always so courteous, aren't you? Why don't you just say I was drunk as a dog? Had I truly taken you last night, would you have chirped something like this as well?"

Sansa swallowed and backed away. But the Hound did nothing.

"I will not do it again," he said. "Blast it, I won't come near you if you say."

He walked past her, not looking at her for once.

Sansa felt some strange dreariness at that.


	3. Chapter 3

The dwarf could go to blazes as far as he was concerned. The little bird will never forgive him, it was obvious. The way she was frightened to lift her eyes to him; why, he'd bet he scared her more than Gregor. 

_That's because she was always afraid of him as any sane person should be, but you had her trust. And betrayed it. You're worse than him._

As he marched further on without any purpose in mind, Sandor began to think of his promise not to come near her. It would be hard to keep, of course. How far is not near? Would it count if he stood, say, in the opposite end of the courtroom?

"My lord!" he heard her squeak and froze in his tracks. What was it? 

He turned around. She looked at him, abashed and uncertain. No wonder: that wasn't a situation she had been taught to deal with. 

"I forgive you," she whispered faintly.

What? Was it another round of her chirping? Inspired mayhaps by the damned dwarf with his schemes to keep the Starks under control? Or could the little bird be – his heart soared at the mere thought – sincere?

"Why?" he rasped. "Is it the polite thing to say?"

A tear rolled down her rosy cheek and he felt dread rising in his soul. 

"W-why are you always like this?" she asked. "The mere moment I want to see anything human in you, you… you always _scare_ me!"

"Anything human in me, little bird?" he growled. "I thought you knew better. I do have something of a human, though, and you have briefly encountered it last night."

"You said you're sorry!" Sansa cried, gripping the nearest door handle for support. She was so beautiful. How he longed to kiss the tears away from her silky skin. _Amazing. Exactly what you need. Admit that you like to hurt her like Joffrey used to._

He frowned, taking a step back and breathing deeply:

"Girl, it's past time for you to finally learn it. I am a dog, trained to butcher everyone who dares to come near his master. Nothing more."

"Who's your master, then?" she murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"It can't be Joffrey," Sansa explained. "You killed him yourself."

_Because of you. You are the only one I would like to obey, but if you wish for me to leave you forever that would be too hard._

"Go to your chamber or to the wood or wherever you were headed," he said. "I've said I'll not come near you, and I meant it."

"Will they marry me to Tommen now if my brother doesn't accept the peace terms?" it was practically inaudible, he wasn't sure if it was meant for his ears. 

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "But don't you fret, little bird. That cage is anyway better."

He turned away again and walked. She didn't call him back this time.

***

How was she supposed to understand him?

Returning to her room eventually, Sansa sank onto the bed in frustration. Why, why was the Hound like this? Saying he's sorry one second, making such _dirty_ implications the next. 

_He is dangerous!_ one side of her mind argued. _Better go and tell Lord Tyrion the truth! Tyrion is a good man, he'll remove the Hound from the Kingsguard and… and…_

 _Exactly,_ another side spoke. _And what? There's only one way for a man who even tries to touch the king's betrothed. Even if the king in question is dead._

Sansa pictured the Hound being held down by his monstrous brother (like on the day when Gregor ruined his face), Ser Ilyn Payne raising the sword, the scarred head rolling down on the ground, gushes of blood, the cheering crowds… 

She swallowed. What the Hound did to her was disgraceful, no doubt of that, but he _stopped_. Before… before any lasting harm was done. He didn't deserve such a fate.

Nevertheless, Sansa shivered as she remembered the experience. Instinctively she clenched her knees tight together, as if his hand was spreading them again. 

_He asked forgiveness. In his own Houndish way. Why did he rebuff it then?_

She tried to think of anything else. After all, the Lannisters' Hound isn't someone for her to muse on. But somehow, it all came back to that. His angry grey eyes, anger mixed with sorrow. His rasping voice, broken and then all of a sudden fierce. 

Sansa took a quill and a piece of paper. She would get it over with. She'd write to him, and that would settle the matter. It wasn't as frightening as talking to him, and he wouldn't have a chance to snap and growl at a letter. 

_My lord,_ she scribbled, unable to think of anything more suitable and certain that "lord" it at least better than "ser". 

_I want you to know that I indeed have no rancor towards you. You were drunk last night, that is so, and I know what you've went through in your childhood and therefore have turned out like this. But you are honest. You have protected me since my father's death and I am truly grateful. Don't snarl at this, believe me, I am. Please, stop being so fearful to me, I'm so tired of being degraded and called names. Again, for what happened during the battle I forgive you._

She wanted to write "Yours with the utmost sincerity" before the end, but then blushed at the sudden double meaning. The Hound would know it for a lie. And he hated liars. 

***

Sandor gazed at the letter brought in by his squire. Now what was the foolish bird up to? Like usual, he concluded. She must have thought and thought it out to preserve at least partly her picture of him as a valiant hero, since no other heroes could be found in the Keep. Blaming everything on the wine and his childhood. Damn it, why had he told her the story of his burns?

_You hoped just for this. That she would realize you're a killer dog not by much of a choice._

Was she expecting a reply? Or merely something polite like "I received it, read it, thank you" decorated in courtesies – but then she knew him enough not to expect this from him. 

He decided against writing back. No matter what the dwarf might say, a letter exchange between the Princess of Winterfell and him would be too risky. 

_But she'd think you want to avoid her, like you said earlier…_

_As if it won't be the best for her._

"Lord Regent Tywin sends for you, my lord."

He grumbled and stood up. The new Lannister trio of regents has been in full power for less than a single day, and already the Keep was buzzing with activity. Usually it was Tywin and Kevan against Tyrion, each trying to announce this or that decision before the rivaling party would do a counter attack. Sandor was kept mostly out of it, luckily – he had only to stand guard near Prince Tommen's room until the end of his shift. Now, it seemed, they remembered him. 

"Well, not willing to get yourself killed anymore, are you?" was Tywin's greeting. 

Sandor shrugged. 

"Good. You're needed here right now. Since my son is yet to be released, I appoint you Acting Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Thank you, my lord."

It was hard to be very thankful when there was no one else of them left, save for Oakheart in Dorne.

"It is your duty to choose the most suitable warriors to fill the space. I expect you to bring me a list within the following week."

"Yes, my lord."

"There was a raven this morning. The Young Wolf is injured; Lady Catelyn writes (among other things) that if at least Lady Sansa is delivered safely to her, she will send Jaime back."

" _She_ will?"

"Clever remark, dog," Ser Kevan, who had been previously sitting in silence, engrossed in a book. " _She_ will. She needs to buy the Freys to her cause. Promised that her son and her daughter will both marry into House Frey, but Arya Stark's vanished…"

"And Robb Stark's married," Tywin added. "The Freys have turned away from them to us, which Catelyn doesn't know yet. He married a Westerling girl."

Sandor was getting tired of their discussion. They seemingly forgot about him. Only seemingly, of course, but it was still a waste of time for him. 

"My lords?" he asked, his voice betraying only a hint of impatience. 

"Ah, you," Tywin turned to him. "Well, right now you must be ready to prepare an escort for the Stark girl."

"To go North?" Sandor wasn't sure whether he felt elation or ache at the news. 

"Let everyone think she's going," Tywin said. "Everyone. If there are any Stark people among us, they will find nothing to report. Until it will be late to change anything."

Late to change?.. Whatever was planned, Sandor wasn't sure at all that it sounded good for the little bird. 

As he began to walk away, he heard Tyrion's angry voice:

"You spoke in front of _him_? Of _this_? Father, are you mad?"

Sandor stood still, listening carefully. The dwarf must have been very outraged, since he didn't even bother with sarcasm. 

"Mind your tongue, Tyrion," Kevan's worried voice replied. The poor man was obviously torn between devotion to his brother and affection for his nephew. 

"Oh. Of course. You have arrived only recently, Father, but I've seen and heard enough. Congratulations, you have lost your Acting Commander."

"And who's the Hound, in your opinion?"

"He's the Hound, exactly. Politics don't interest him. Damn it all, Father! Couldn't you see he's lost his head over Lady Sansa?"

Then the dwarf proceeded to tell Tywin of practically every glance Sandor had stolen in Sansa's direction. True to his word, though, he spoke nothing of what had transpired in her bedroom last night. 

The Hound stiffened. That was starting to look bad for him. "Lost his head" might be just one of Tyrion's jokes, but it was too dire a situation to overlook it.

"That's news," Tywin said in the meantime. "But don't you worry. If he is in love with the girl – and I have no reason to doubt your evidence – he will want to keep her alive in here, rather than slain in the Riverlands."

There were sounds of turning keys. All the doors to Tywin's study were locked. 

But Sandor had heard all that was necessary.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa was sitting with a piece of needlework to steady her nerves – a mourning cloak necessary for her as Joffrey's betrothed – when the door to her room burst opened and the Hound came stomping in.

The girl opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She jumped up and held her needle forward as a pathetic sort of weapon. 

"I won't hurt you," Sandor Clegane said gruffly, not moving a step towards her. "I've just seen the regents. You are in a big trouble, little bird."

"Why? What happened?" she whispered, shivering. "Lord Tyrion said they would send me to Mother…"

"If Catelyn and Robb Stark accepted their terms, aye. But Catelyn didn't. Moreover, your brother has broken his alliance with the Freys, and they are apparently furious and turned to the Lannisters."

"What happens to me now?" Sansa dropped the needlework and clutched the back of her chair for support.

"Tywin will pretend he'll send you back. But in fact he's planning to further keep you hostage. Worse, he's apparently going to lure your mother and brother into some trap and kill them. As far as I could hear, he's fairly sure of it."

Sansa gasped and stumbled. How could she believe at all that Joffrey's death would liberate her? Or that Joffrey and his mother were the only harmful ones?

"Little bird!" she heard the Hound's voice. "Get a hold of yourself!"

Before she knew it, she threw herself at his feet:

"Oh, se… I mean, please, please, get me out of this place! You said you could. Please, help me get to Mother and Robb, I will tell them of the trap, I will warn them," weeping overtook her, and her shaking lips couldn't formulate any more words. She looked up. Sandor Clegane's face was hard to read. He had his usual scowl on and gazed at her – whether with shock or with anger Sansa couldn't determine. 

_What are you doing? You are begging the Lannisters' sworn shield to aid you. Are you mad? Quieten before he alerts the whole Keep and drags you before Tywin._

Then the solution dawned on her. It was a large price to pay, but it was inevitable – she had to save not only her life, but those of Mother and Robb, not counting their bannermen and troops. 

Swallowing tears, Sansa hurriedly began to untie the laces of her dress:

"Ser… my lord… oh… er… I… I will give… wh-what you want… just help me, please…"

That certainly got the Hound out of his stupor. 

"Damn you!" he hissed, catching her fingers. "You understand next to _nothing_ of what's going on around here."

"I… only…" she faltered and cried hard. Unexpectedly a rough hand hesitantly stroked her hair and shoulder, then reaching for her own hand. 

"We won't save your family's lives by fleeing the city, little bird," the Hound spoke, almost gently. "Whatever Lord Tywin has planned is already planned. When we get to the Riverlands, ten to one it will be already carried out."

"Have we got no chance?" she whispered. 

"No. The dwarf knows…" now, obviously, it was he who searched for words, "knows of my… behavior towards you. Should you vanish, I will instantly be suspected."

"Th-then what?" Sansa asked, disbelief rising in her heart. "Do we just sit here and do nothing?"

Not just disbelief. Anger. Anger as she had never felt before. The Hound, one of the most fearsome warriors, was standing helpless, confusion and despair in his gray eyes. 

"Do we do anything at all?!" she cried when he remained silent. Her voice was getting shrill and loud, but she hardly cared. It seemed everything was turning upside down after the battle. Now she would find out that Sandor Clegane never wanted to simply protect her. _To think of it! I am a fool. Worth five Moon Boys. I thought he was helping me because of chivalry… or because he liked me…_ Oh, he liked her for certain. But now, denied her body, he would withdraw. _Search for someone willing,_ Sansa thought, fighting back a new fit of tears. _Someone blind and deaf or old as the hills. No one else would accept him!_

"The rookery," the Hound said. 

That was not at all what she expected from him now. 

"The bloody rookery," he elaborated and clutched her hand tighter. She realized he was still holding it. 

"What are you talking of?"

"We must find a way to send a raven. Unnoticed. To your mother."

"Will they believe it?" she asked. 

"If you write the letter yourself, they will."

He stood up and paced the room anxiously.

"I don't know a thing of who cares for the ravens now, with Pycelle in the cells. For sure, either of us will look suspicious – very suspicious – going and wishing to find it out…"

"Can't I send my handmaiden?" Sansa suggested desperately. 

"Don't be silly," he snapped. "Everyone knows she's yours. And I'll be roasted if she's not reporting your every step to Tywin." 

After an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the Hound's heavy boots, he rasped:

"We've got only one buggering chance, and even that's very thin. I might intercept a raven already on its way. If the old lion continues to exchange lies with the Riverlands, you'll have your share of luck."

But of course! Catch a sent raven! Sansa couldn't stop herself from smiling. So easy. She felt her spirits lift up. The Hound will manage, surely. Her family will be warned in time.

"Oh, if only it all goes fine! I don't know how I can repay…" she began elatedly before suddenly halting and taking another step away from Sandor Clegane. 

He let his breath out, his eyes almost devouring her. Dark again, not the usual steely gray, more like the color of storm clouds…

"Careful. Don't tempt me, little bird," he grunted and looked at the door. "Try to look happy meanwhile. You're supposed to be getting ready to go home."

***

As he walked down the hall and tried to think over their very thin – no, extremely thin – plan, if it could be called so at all – he found he could hardly concentrate. Damn him, but the little bird was still so careless. Actually trying to offer _herself_ in exchange for an escape. She was fortunate that his reactions remained quick and precise and he stopped her before she… revealed too much. 

The man swallowed. Even what she had revealed was almost too much. Her perfect white neck, he still, Stranger take him, recalled how sweet it felt against his tongue…

 _Poor foolish little bird. You don't realize that if I have another taste of you, I will never let you go anywhere. No, indeed, I will lock you up in my room if necessary…_ the most disgusting fantasies filled his mind, and Sandor growled. It was getting worse with every waking hour. Or sleeping hour, for that matter. He wished the dwarf had him executed. 

_Not now. First, try and help Sansa. After that, when she's safe, nothing matters._ Sandor thought if she would be sorry for his death. Knowing her, she might be. She'd chirp something of redemption or something of that kind and bring flowers to his grave. The vision sent a jolt of an odd feeling through his heart – like bitter warmth, he didn't know how to place it. He had felt it often lately, however. When thinking of the little bird.

"Ah, Clegane! In a hurry already to arrange for Lady Sansa's escort?"

Sandor almost bumped into Tyrion Lannister. 

"I have plenty of time for that," he rasped.

"And for other matters too, it seems. Like listening at the doors. When I said you're never a man for conspiracies, I meant it."

"You knew I was there?!"

"Of course I did. I'd bet Father and Uncle Kevan knew too, and they took an opportunity to warn you against any turning of the cloak."

The conceit written on the ugly big face was beyond infuriating. Grasping the dwarf's collar, Sandor hissed:

"If you intend to use me as a pawn in your twisted schemes, you'd better think again."

"A very good habit, thinking again," Tyrion agreed casually. "You'll benefit from it too. I'm the only one among the regents who ever thinks seriously of your lady love. With me throttled and you facing the rightful justice at last, she'll be, let's say, very much left on her own."

Gritting his teeth, Sandor slowly let go of him. Tyrion straightened himself:

"That's better. Is it the reason why you saved my life in the battle as well?"

It was a torture to hear him speaking of Sandor's confused feelings for the little bird so conversationally. But it was the truth – the hideous youngest Lannister was the closest thing Sansa had to an ally. 

"What are you planning to do in the Riverlands?" he demanded.

"Now, remember what I said of thinking again? In fact, the more times you think the better."

The dwarf paraded past him, and Sandor clenched his fist, imagining it tightening around the brat's neck. 

"Oh, by the way," the dwarf turned, "better be wary of the oh so sweet Highgarden roses. They mean to worm their way into the Keep. Me, I'd rather prefer it covered in moss."

"I don't give a shit for the Tyrells," Sandor snarled. "You could guess that."

"You could guess I don't mean you yourself," Tyrion retorted. "The Tyrells' language is a bit more refined than yours, Clegane, with all due respect, and alas, a bit more to the taste of Lady Stark. As long as she's our ward, she can hope to get out of the mess (lucky her), but if she's dragged to their cause, even unwittingly…"

He gave a pronounced sigh and continued his way. 

Sandor banged his fist on the wall. He remembered the Hand's tourney and Loras Tyrell charming the little bird with his dashing looks and a few empty compliments. _If I could tear off his honeyed tongue._ Yes, the Tyrells lived up to the sigil. _Pity the little bird doesn't know their roses are poisonous._

Tyrion didn't trust him, that was obvious and perfectly expected. But, observant as he was, he knew he could trust Sandor with anything concerning the little bird. Sandor knew it too. As long as the dwarf was kind to Sansa, he'd never raise a hand against him. If the Tyrells dared to lure the little bird into their plots…

_Weakling. You are a weakling and the lions know it. The dwarf only has to mention her name to have you dancing to their tune like a puppet. And she'll never see it, because no matter how prettily she chirps, deep down she'll never forgive or forget what you did._

The rookery, as it turned out, was in Pycelle's absence quickly taken over by Varys. Which meant the chance to do anything was reduced to zero. To intercept a raven under the Spider's nose was impossible. 

_I will allow them to kill me only when the little bird's safe,_ Sandor repeated over and over when later in his room, trying to banish the image of Sansa undoing her dress's fastenings from his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Very soon Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter Margaery arrived at the Red Keep. The mission of binding the Tyrells to the throne after Littlefinger's death was taken over by Lord Tywin, and he was obviously set on marrying Margaery to Tommen. Even Sansa's handmaidens knew it.

Sansa herself was being prepared for a journey home. At least, that's what they told her and everyone else. She knew better, of course. _Oh, if only the Hound would manage to intercept a raven..._

But as only a few days after her last encounter with him she received a note via the Hound's squire.

_Little bird –_

_There's nothing I can do with the ravens. Varys controls the rookery, it's plain suicide. Therefore, wait for me this evening near the weirwood of yours. We'll take the chance to flee the city._

Flee! At last! Sansa's heart almost jumped out of her chest. Of course, that would be the best solution – she always knew it! Sandor Clegane will manage to bring her home. Unlike that traitor Dontos, he didn't want her to wait and wait – he ordered her to come on that same day.  _Soon... so soon I will see Mother and Robb, and warn them, and we'll defeat the Lannisters, and find Arya, and live so happily, so happily..._ She did feel an inkling of fear of going so far with no one but the Hound, but she told herself to stay calm. After all, he _did_ stop that night, and hadn't touched her since... anyway, others would have been even worse escorts.

She prepared her things quickly. Just as she was about to pack a bag or two, her handmaiden knocked on the door.

"Both the ladies Tyrell want you to dine with them, my lady."

Sansa was quite surprised. As in everyone's eyes she was supposed to be sent home openly, on Tywin's permission, she didn't think anyone in King's Landing would care to think of her. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant notion. Sansa hadn't seen new faces in ages, and she had already been told that though Olenna Tyrell was sharp-tongued and often cruel in her words, Lady Margaery was very friendly.

The rumors turned out to be correct. Olenna, the Queen of Thorns, as they nicknamed her, was terribly sarcastic – much like Lord Tyrion or the Hound. But Sansa felt the old woman liked her. As for Margaery, she was all that is kind.

Of course, after living under Joffrey and Cersei Sansa knew better than to trust appearances, but – as she was now a hostage – few people treated her even a bit kindly.

Moreover, Lady Olenna suggested that to strengthen the kingdom and the ties between the Great Houses, Sansa should marry her grandson!

For a moment, Sansa hoped it would be the gorgeous Ser Loras, but of course, she should have known better. It was Lady Margaery's other brother, Willas Tyrell, a cripple – but with a gentle heart and very fond of books. After a brief disappointment, Sansa's heart soared. A loving, caring husband in the beautiful castle of Highgarden... Perhaps it was even to her benefit that he was a cripple. That way, he won't go to war and be killed like so many.

They would spend blissful years in the Reach, have lots of dear little children, read books, and Sansa would sing ballads for her husband...

 _Sing for your little life,_ a rasping voice echoed in her ears. 

The girl jumped, suddenly remembering the Hound and his plan.  _Mother... Robb... in just a few weeks..._ one part of her mind reminded her.  _But still, how can you guarantee Sandor Clegane won't force himself on you again during these weeks?_ another part argued.  _Besides, if you marry Willas Tyrell, the war will come to end, and you will be able to visit your family properly, with an escort and carriages and everything. And what awaits you in the Riverlands? More fighting. Robb is always on campaign, and Mother worries of him. It's better for them both if I am safe in Highgarden._

Her decision made, Sansa scribbled a letter:

_My lord,_

_I thank you for your care of me. But I think I'd rather not take this risk. I am sincerely grateful to you for your offer of help, though._

She stuck it under the door of Sandor Clegane's room, careful not to be observed by anyone. If they caught her exchanging letters with the Hound, the strict Olenna Tyrell might reconsider her decision to wed Sansa to Willas...

When her handmaiden washed her hair before bed, Sansa confided in her, unable to hide her joy.

"That's good news, m'lady," the maid said, smiling. "Though I'll miss you, m'lady, many people are so cruel to us servants, but you aren't."

"I think I'll take you with me to Highgarden," Sansa offered and smiled back. "You're a nice girl."

"Oh thank you, m'lady."

Sleep came quickly that night, and the dreams that overtook Sansa were pleasant, for the first time in a long while. She pictured Highgarden and her future lord husband – though she had never once seen him – and Mother coming to visit, and the warm Southern sun...

She was quickly and brutally pulled back to reality as she awoke to a sharp shake. Opening her eyes, Sansa gasped as she recognized the Hound.  _Not again!_ she thought, panicking.  _Not now! He'll ruin me and I'll never marry Lord Tyrell..._

"Are you completely foolish, girl?" he rasped at her, shaking her again.

"Let me go," she pleaded in a barely audible whisper. "Please, or I will scream."

"Didn't I tell you?'

"Tell me what?"

He sighed, exasperated:

"Your handmaiden. She's a spy for Tywin, as is practically everyone else. Except for those who spy for Varys. Never mind."

"B-but..." Sansa stammered. "I didn't tell her of our plan! Honestly!"

"Bugger the plan! You told her that the Queen of bloody Thorns intends to wed you to Willas Tyrell!"

Sansa froze. How could it happen that he knew? So the maid did indeed... did indeed spread the news... But again, what was the harm?

"Someone like you isn't to be lost," Sandor Clegane grunted. "Tywin won't let you go to the Tyrells any easier that to your family."

"But they are rich!" Sansa protested. "Not as rich as him, but rich enough to help me get to the Reach, so that the Lannisters won't catch me!"

"Not rich enough – or quick enough – to prepare your journey in two days," he retorted.

"Two days?" Sansa dreaded to guess what he meant, but ignorance was even more terrifying:

"What will happen? Is... is Lord Tywin going to... c-cut my head off?"

She felt tears welling in her eyes. The Hound's expression softened, and suddenly he pulled her to him, but not as roughly as she expected. He caressed her hair and shoulders gently, and it was surprisingly soothing.

"Hush, little bird, nothing _so_ bad, he's not Joffrey," he whispered. "But he plans to marry you off in two days."

Now what? Sansa stared at him, shocked. Whom could she marry? Tommen? Tommen was nice, no doubt, but he was a boy still... and she couldn't, wouldn't stay in King's Landing...

"To whom?" she asked, and the Hound's face – she saw it even in the dark – convulsed in rage.

"To the dwarf."

***

The little bird uttered a small cry and fell back heavily. Sandor didn't have the time to check whether she was breathing at all when she thankfully recovered herself. Her lovely face was paler than ever.

"Are... are you sure?" she asked meekly.

"They tried to keep it from me, but the Tyrells (their guards, to be precise) were kind enough to tell me the news. Olenna's not pleased, of course, but they're helpless."

She swallowed hard, obviously trying not to break down.

"And it's all my fault," she whispered. "My fault..."

Again, Sandor embraced her, feeling that peculiar bittersweet feeling flooding his soul, his heart, his everything.

"I was too harsh to you," he confessed. "Of course, you shouldn't have been so careless, but you're just far too naive, little bird. It's a pity your lessons in life are so hard."

"What can I do?" Sansa asked, raising her eyes to hesitantly meet his. "Please tell me there's a hope. _Some_ hope!"

He wished someone had told _him_ this. The very thought of the dwarf's ugly hands touching the beautiful girl, his crooked legs linked with hers, his hideous face even close to her red lips... All of a sudden, Sandor leaned down and pressed his own mouth on her lips instead. _They are sweeter than they look... never understood the fuss made about kisses on the lips... until now..._  half-coherent thoughts rushed through his hazed mind.The girl's eyes widened, she raised her hands to push him away, but he managed to get hold of himself and broke the kiss. Now he knew for certain he won't let _anyone_ else in the place. The dwarf, Willas Tyrell, anyone. He'll kill any man who wants the little bird... even if he himself is never to have her.

"I will stop the marriage," he said firmly. "I swear it."

Sansa only continued to stare at him, unblinking.  _You've frightened her to death again, she might be well considering the dwarf instead now._ But then she uttered in a dazed voice:

"I thought... I thought you detested vows."

"I didn't swear a vow to detest vows," Sandor said, his spirits rising a little higher.  _You acted like an idiot, of course, but it seems the dwarf's still the worse option for her._

To his delight, the little bird smiled a bit before saying worriedly:

"It's near dawn. You may be observed leaving my room."

"Aye," he nodded. "I'd best get going."

_Kill the dwarf and be done with it. But then, Tywin can marry her himself – damn, it's even more disgusting... Then, escape with her today or tomorrow._

Taking one last look at the girl, Sandor left, still a bit hazy as if drunk after the kiss and lost in the choice between his ideas, each seeming more risky than the other.


End file.
